


Red Lingerie

by kink_tomato



Category: Glee
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, I wrote this so long ago I was afraid I’d find tongues battling for dominance, M/M, good communication, innocuous football kink, they’re so in love my teeth hurt, who says porn can’t be wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kink_tomato/pseuds/kink_tomato
Summary: Blaine loves football.  He doesn’t hate looking at the players either. When he finds out Kurt actuallywasone, he justhasto see his boyfriend in uniform.Originally written for the Glee kink meme.





	Red Lingerie

"Wait, I thought you were a cheerleader?" Blaine looks so adorably confused that Kurt forgets that his first impulse was to be annoyed with Finn for bringing it up, and laughs a little.

"I was," he assures, looking a bit smug as he cuts a neat bite of his seared salmon, "you've seen my trophy from Nationals. But I was on the football team first. For like, a week though, so I'm not sure it counts." Finn already seems to have forgotten that he'd segued into this conversation, intently scouring the dinner table for anything left to potentially refill his plate with, but Carole absolutely lights up and he can see his father's subtle swelling of pride and the private half-smile he's giving his plate, which does even more than his step-mother's glowing to make him feel warm inside.

"Of course it counts," Burt answers, trying to sound casual, and Kurt understands and appreciates, in a way that he might not have a year or two ago, that he's downplaying his enthusiasm because he doesn't want Kurt to feel like he's more proud of him for football than for his other accomplishments. "You only played one game and kicked the winning field goal, and it was the only game they won that season."

"You were a kicker?" Blaine asks, sounding bemused and just a little impressed, and he's not paying any attention to his dinner anymore, and is possibly in danger of losing the rest of his fish, if Finn's speculative gaze is any indication. Before Kurt can make a witty reply about high kicks, Carole cuts him off.

"Oh, honey, he was _adorable_. This was back before I'd ever met Burt, or Kurt, but I was there with the video camera watching Finn. It was the best time I've ever had at a football game." Finn casts her a wounded look and Blaine's plate is apparently safe for the moment.

_"Mom."_

"Oh, Finn, you were out there too," she chides, patting his hand, "The whole _thing_ was adorable. Blaine, I'll have to show you the video sometime."

"But not tonight," Kurt interrupts, feeling the pink around his ears, and hoping Blaine isn't noticing it, which he _totally_ is because he's looking at him with his goofy grin and Kurt can feel his foot nudging him under the table. And it really isn't fair that Blaine can tease him without saying a word, but it's pretty impossible to get angry with him when he's always so earnest and _reverent_ about it. "We have way too much homework to get through and Blaine only has so long if he's going to make it home for curfew," he finishes pointedly, aware that he's blushing _more_ now. And that seems to be the end of the conversation.

At least until after dinner is over and Finn is stuck with dish duty while their parents settle into the living room with a movie, cozied up together _just_ shy of making their sons uncomfortable, and Blaine leans back against Kurt's bedroom door as it shuts behind him, eyes twinkling.

"So you played football?"

"I believe we established that that is something that actually happened, yes," Kurt answers dryly, raising an eyebrow at the other boy as Blaine's grin widens.

"You _hate_ football," he points out, responding by raising both eyebrows at once in exaggerated incredulity.

"Hate is a strong word," Kurt protests mildly, because now it's not just his father who loves it, but his father and his brother _and_ his boyfriend, and by golly, he's Making an Effort. And if he doesn't really _get_ it and share in the excitement, well, there's always the joy of watching Blaine when _he_ gets excited, because he can be charming when he's exuberant. And the fact that he's charming most of the time (and that's not Kurt's bias talking, he's almost positive) somehow doesn't detract from that. "And it is kind of fascinating that the 'manliest' sport in America involves a bunch of guys in stretch pants bending over with one guy all up in their business, running around jumping on top of each other in awkward positions until they end up in a big sweaty pile together, and finally congratulating each other for a job well done with ass-smacks. Totally heterosexual." he adds, thoughtfully, trying and mostly succeeding not to smile, though Blaine can see it twitching at his lips.

"Must be sublimation," Blaine suggests, laughing, "all those macho guys subconsciously want to be gay, because they know no woman could ever be as awesome as they are in their own minds."

"And now I think I have a topic for my Sociology paper," Kurt answers cheerfully, dropping down on the edge of his bed with his arms splayed for support, and Blaine laughs again at that and Kurt grins as familiar warmth flutters in his stomach and floods him because _oh my god_ does he love this boy. "Well, they're not entirely wrong you know. Neanderthalic egotism aside, there is something pretty spectacular about the male form. I'm particularly fond of the one I'm looking at now."

"So do you still have it?" Blaine asks, breaking him out of his momentary reverie with confusion, though the sly look his smile has taken on indicates that Kurt's flirting hasn't passed him by.

"What do I have?" he asks, sitting up a bit straighter and crossing one leg over the other.

"Your uniform. From football," Blaine elaborates, nodding a little, and he's still got that sly look and oh. _Oh._

"Seriously...?" Kurt asks, gaping a little, and Blaine continues to act confident, though it's belied a little by the flush creeping up his throat into his face (which means it's already covering his chest, which Kurt wouldn't mind seeing, though he's already something of an expert on his boyfriend's blush-patterns.)

"Yeah, seriously. Is it a big deal?"

"No-o..." Kurt answers, cocking his head to one side, watching thoughtfully as Blaine fidgets a little with the doorknob under his scrutiny. It isn't. It shouldn't be...if not for the suggestive atmosphere he was pretty much guilty of instigating. "I have my jersey," he answers finally, when Blaine is _really_ starting to squirm, "not the pads or anything...I finally got a little growth spurt the summer after, and they went when I was refurbishing my wardrobe. I've got the jersey though. It was huge anyway, and...it's a surprisingly good memory, playing football." And just like that Blaine's grinning again, looking for all the world like a hopeful puppy.

"So do I get to see?" Even though Kurt rolls his eyes, this time Blaine doesn't cave to embarrassment, watching joyfully as his boyfriend gets up from his bed to dig to the back of his closet. Kurt, more than Blaine, dresses to emphasize an appearance of leanness and elegance; it's easy to forget that he's solid. But really, when it's just them, Kurt is a little bit taller and nearly as broad. And when he emerges from the closet with the shiny red nylon hanging loosely off of him, he looks far less slight.

"Oh, wow," Blaine reacts, eyes a little wide as he takes in the new look, and now it's Kurt's turn to feel like squirming, "Number three, huh? Three's a lucky number."

Kurt breaks out in a giggle, "Did you really just say that? Blaine Anderson, are you trying to imply that you would like to 'get lucky' with me?" Blaine just pouts (actually pouts), turning redder than before.

"Oh come on, be nice, you look hot. Is it a crime to think my boyfriend looks hot?" he whines, and Kurt takes pity on him, stepping closer so he can administer a quick, chaste kiss.

"Of course it's not...I'm just surprised is all. I mean, come on...this is not high fashion here. Not what I would typically consider sexy."

"I think it's sexy," Blaine argues, lifting his hands to settle lightly on the other boy's hips, " _you_ make it sexy," he amends, offering a crooked smile. "I'm sorry...am I being weird? Am I creeping you out...?"

"I'm not creeped out," Kurt reassures, leaning in to press his forehead lightly against Blaine's. "I'm just a little...nonplussed. Okay, more than a little. Practically minused." And he says it with such utter seriousness that Blaine laughs, and Kurt smiles back.

"I love you."

"I love you too. But you know, my whole family is home."

"We could be _really_ quiet," Blaine whispers.

"Yes, I see your quiet-fu is quite good," Kurt whispers back, steadfastly not laughing.

"I am a quiet- _ninja_.” Blaine assures, and this time Kurt does laugh, a little, because he's not. He's _so_ not. He’s the boy who organizes a flashmob of cheerleaders and does the Carlton dance with them on the courtyard steps singing Tom Jones, to introduce himself on the first day of school. Who is most comfortable in front of groups of strangers performing. He is the antithesis of quiet. This time it's Blaine who lifts his chin, initiating the next kiss, "your parents are watching Clue, they can't leave the sofa for at _least_ another hour if they're going to keep track of Tim Curry and figure out whodunit. And Finn avoids the closed door like the plague because he doesn't _want_ to catch us up to anything."

"There is such a thing as a pause button, you know," Kurt teases, but Blaine has a point. He's Carole's teenager, not her _baby_ , and that's probably why she's more at ease with giving them their privacy. She'll probably keep Burt from making any surprise check ins, at least for the duration of the movie. He just closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, "I swear to god, Blaine, if we get caught, I will _die._ And then I will come back and haunt you until _you_ die."

But Blaine's whole face is lighting up gleefully, only hearing the consent, "but since you believe in neither God nor ghosts, I'm feeling pretty safe," he responds, lifting his hands from Kurt's hips to cup his face instead, kissing him firmly. Kurt gives him a little tug forward, and reaches past him to check the door, and lock it. It's only a simple push-button latch that can be popped pretty quickly from the other side, and Kurt's not actually allowed to lock the door when Blaine's up here, but he supposes if someone _does_ try to check on them, it'll at least be the difference between getting caught, and getting caught in a _really embarrassing position_ that could scar all parties involved for life.

For his part, Blaine is wasting no time, laying his hands on Kurt's hips again and then sliding them up his sides; not enough to even start to push the jersey off, but just far enough to touch bare skin above his belt. Kurt waves him off from getting too close just long enough to take the couple of steps to the bed, Blaine eagerly following his lead. "Remember, _quiet_ ," he urges, just once more, before meeting Blaine's impatient mouth with his own.

Kurt had thought Blaine was an amazing kisser from the beginning. Their first kiss was certainly the best he'd ever had. But now, with months of practice under their belts (so to speak), it is actually so much better, with far less bumping of noses and knocking their teeth into one another's. Blaine's the first one to sit back on the bed, pulling Kurt with him to straddle his lap without ever breaking their kiss, and Kurt goes along for the ride, glad for the flexibility of dance that keeps it from being too uncomfortable to bend far enough inward to maintain the contact of their commingling mouths. 

It's Blaine who breaks it first, aware that Kurt is taller than him to begin with and it will be awkward to keep up at this angle for too long. He lets out a hot breath against Kurt's skin, and trails his lips sloppily along his smooth jaw, exploring the juncture of bone and tendons with tongue and teeth as he works his way down the smooth column of the other boy's throat, allowing him a chance to stretch up. And Kurt does with a soft sigh, eyes half closed and intent on savoring _this_ , the familiarity and intimacy and downright _worship_ that he shares with Blaine in these private moments.

"Do you want to top...?" Blaine mutters against his collarbone, strong fingers rubbing soothing circles at the small of Kurt's back, almost as if he's worried he might _bolt_. Kurt feels the words as much as hears them, vibrating against his skin, and it does give him a little jolt. Honestly, he'd thought they'd do this quickly without much fuss; a little lubricant, a little squirming around against each other, and a quick cleanup before anyone was the wiser. But Blaine was talking about penetration, which was more work, and his "do you want to?" sounded a whole lot more like "would you please?"

"Jesus, you're really serious about this aren't you," Kurt whispers back, combing his fingertips through the shorter hair at the nape of his neck where the gel was less severe. One day, he had promised himself, he was going to catch Blaine fresh out of the shower and find out how it felt to really run his fingers through his hair. "Are you _sure_? I mean...there are _parents_ in the house and we only have so much time, and you're going to have to walk out of here after and you can't just randomly take a shower before you leave, you'll have to wait till you get home..."

"I'm sure," Blaine insists, his tone laughing, "I'm really, really sure, I _promise_ ," he's grinning as he tumbles backwards against the mattress, pulling Kurt with him and finding room between the jersey and his skin for his hands, tracing nonsense patterns across his back and sides and then stroking them away. And Kurt bites his lip because now he can _feel_ how sure Blaine is, pressing firm and insistent into his abdomen, and even through denim he can feel the heat radiating from it. "Unless you're really not comfortable," he adds all of a sudden, sounding concerned, "we totally don't have to, not now, like this." And Kurt thinks he seems a little frantic, like he's afraid he might have crossed some line and it's almost heartbreaking, just a little, if he thinks about it too hard.

Instead, Kurt groans softly, rolling his hips against the other boy's, "okay, you. Stop talking. Now. We don't have time for this," he's scolding, but Blaine is just beaming, and Kurt doesn't roll his eyes. "Stay," he adds as an after thought as he untangles himself to stand up, and Blaine stifles a laugh. He leaves Blaine and the bed behind for a minute to raid his vanity, digging to the back of the lowest drawer to retrieve his secret stash of condoms and lube. He _really_ needs to work up the nerve to buy a bigger bottle, because it goes unexpectedly fast when they try to do _this_ , but he can't help feeling like he looks like some kind of depraved sex fiend purchasing it in any substantial volume. Depraved sex fiend leads to the thought that perhaps he could bribe Puckerman to buy it for him, followed by a quick mental debate over whether it would give the ex-bully fodder to presume his position and mock his sex life, or rub it in his face that _when you have sex with guys you can have so. Much. Sex._ And then, with a slight shiver, Kurt pushes the whole thing out of his mind because really? He doesn't want to be thinking about Puckerman when _Blaine_ is waiting for him on his bed, and those things really need to be mutually exclusive.

Blaine, he is pleased to find, has taken to heart the time constraints and taken the liberty of stripping off his shirt and is in the process of kicking his jeans off of his ankles...and the absolute hunger in his gaze when Kurt steps back into view gives him a little thrill of pleasure that radiates through his body and jolts in his groin. Kurt reaches to follow his lead, gripping the jersey to pull it off over his head when Blaine calls out, "wait..."

And oh, _right_ , Kurt gets it. Well, not exactly, but he gets the _idea_ of it. "Is it okay...?" Blaine mutters self-consciously, and Kurt grins at him as he starts on his belt instead.

"I'm not going to tell you it's not a little odd, but honestly, it's _fine_...if a tacky nylon tunic is the worst thing you ever want me to wear for you in bed, I'm going to go ahead and consider myself lucky. You know last year Mr Schue wanted to dress me up in a corset with fishnets and heels?" At the confused, utterly _horrified_ expression he gets from Blaine, Kurt can't help but start giggling, "For Rocky Horror. He wanted to cast me as Frank N. Furter. The first and only time I've ever been offered a lead and I'm typecast," he explains, and Blaine is relieved enough to laugh with him as he crawls up onto the bed to join him in just his briefs and the jersey.

"You should have taken it anyway," Blaine tells him, smiling softly, and Kurt knows he gets it, why he turned it down. "So you get it out of stereotyping...that's their problem. It's what you _do_ with it that proves you're so much more than that." Kurt hums thoughtfully, leaning down to kiss him again.

"If he offered it to me now, maybe I would," Kurt muses, resting his cheek against Blaine's bent knee, ghosting his hand up his calf, stirring the hairs just enough to make the other boy shiver and close his eyes for a moment, "but that was then...pre-gas pain sexy faces," he teases, and Blaine grimaces guiltily, "even if I wasn't offended I don't know if I could have been _that_ confident." Kurt raises his head, shifting his position while Blaine moves to accommodate him, until he's half lying between the prone boy's bent legs, "you may not have noticed this about me but as much as I love clothes, I don't really subscribe to the 'less is more' way of thinking."

Blaine lets out a quick bark of a laugh, "oh, I know, you and _layers_. So what you're really saying here is that you won't wear a corset and fishnets for me?" he whispers, teasing.

"Nope," Kurt agrees, eyes sparkling, "you chose door number one. You win sports-jersey fantasy," he's smirking as he plucks at the fabric for emphasis, "thanks for playing. So...how do you want to...?"

"Like this," Blaine answers quickly, reaching up to run his hands over Kurt's forearms where he's propping up his weight, "I want to see you."

"That does kind of make sense, since the whole point was the football uniform in the first place," Kurt murmurs as he kneels up, pressing a kiss to his knee and organizing himself, "we really _do_ have to hurry," he adds apologetically, and Blaine just shakes his head, humming softly in appreciation as Kurt does him the courtesy of pressing a few kisses down his torso while he shifts some more and fumbles with uncapping the bottle. "Sorry," Kurt murmurs against his stomach when he finally presses cool, slick fingers into the cleft of his ass and Blaine flinches. 

"Just cold," Blaine breathes back, reassuring and with a trace of humor. Kurt is far more serious, concentrating on what Blaine is trusting him with, massaging his fingers back and forth across the pucker of his entrance in an effort to relax the muscle a little before he starts trying to press in. Kurt marvels that Blaine doesn't seem bothered at all, almost serene in his relaxation and half lidded eyes. Kurt is still tense every single time. Blaine seems to think he tenses from trying so hard to relax and finds it hilarious.

"I don't want to rush this to the point where it hurts you," Kurt warns, and Blaine nods a little that he understands. "Tell me if it's too much. And I don't mean 'I can't stand it' too much, I mean 'I'm not enjoying it'."

"Yes, Kurt, I understand," Blaine answers, with the barest hint of impatience, and Kurt raises his eyebrows, suddenly pressing deeper with his index finger and making Blaine squawk a little.

"I thought I told you to stay quiet," Kurt scolds, and Blaine, bites his lip, not quite laughing and blinking rapidly.

"Well add more lube if you're gonna play rough," he responds breathlessly. Kurt smirks, fumbling the bottle with his left hand to drizzle liberally onto his right. The next time he pushes the same finger in it moves more smoothly, and Blaine lets out a soft sort of groan, squirming faintly against the pressure. Kurt presses his face to his belly again, enjoying the dusky trail of hair leading to his cock as his fingers do their work, gradually relaxing and stretching the muscle. He's yet to become disinterested in the differences that make up Blaine: the compactness of Blaine's body; the shape of his musculature, more defined from boxing and polo; the smattering of chest hair and occasional suggestion of stubble across the square of his jaw...while Kurt himself is leaner, still a bit softer with lingering traces of babyfat, and mostly hairless. 

As he starts to wedge a second finger in with the first, Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine's hipbone where it juts forward near his groin, and attempts to ease the temporary discomfort by finally nuzzling his flagging erection. Again, Blaine makes a sound like a groan, as Kurt hums softly, letting him feel the hint of vibration. Though his eyes had been nearly closed before, they snap opened to attention as Kurt runs his soft, damp lips along the length of his cock, and he glances up to meet Blaine's gaze as he takes hold of the base with his left hand and finally closes his mouth over the head, laving patterns with his tongue. They are pretty much agreed that watching the other administering a blowjob is the hottest thing either has ever seen, and Blaine reaches to grip Kurt's shoulder with one hand, biting down impulsively on the knuckle of the other to keep from making noise.

Kurt, ever hygienic, had harbored some concerns that he might not actually enjoy these things in practice; the mechanics sounded questionable or downright...icky. Now that he was actually doing them, he was relieved to know he had the same primal urges as everybody else, and they tended to supersede his fastidious nature. Including giving head, which he had never imagined could be pleasurable for anyone but the recipient. It still embarrasses him to some degree how much he enjoys _doing_ it, but supposes there must be something empathetic about it. And it's fortunate, because Blaine barely notices when he gets to a third finger. He wants to crook his fingers, try to find the bundle of nerves that will make the sparks fly behind Blaine's eyelids, but he doesn't dare just yet, because he knows Blaine will yell, he's already too close to coming undone.

His cock is back to full attention and glistens wetly when Kurt pulls away from it, and Blaine makes a little mewling sound of protest at the loss. For a moment Kurt is transfixed by how absolutely _sinful_ he looks, panting and dark eyed and flush, with some of his curls starting to come loose into softness and his thighs spread wanton and quivering, rocking to help fuck himself on Kurt's fingers. " _God_ , Blaine..." is all he can manage, and it's somewhere between a whine and a groan and still a whisper.

Blaine doesn't say anything, his hand still blocking his mouth for something to bite, the the other he fists in Kurt's jersey, giving him a tug, and that's all the communication Kurt needs. He's breathing hard and trying to focus on the series of steps he has to take: withdrawing his fingers finally, though Blaine squeezes his eyes shut at the emptiness; next he has to remove his own underwear, which would be so much easier if he ever thought to wear boxers instead of tight boxer briefs that fit in his skinny jeans. Finally he tears open the condom packet, biting his lip as he pinches the tip and rolls it onto his own neglected erection and Blaine watches, captivated. 

"Okay," Blaine breathes as Kurt settles back into position, encouraging. They aren't really the right heights for it to be comfortable for Blaine to rest his legs on Kurt's shoulders, but after leaning in for another kiss, Kurt sits up and supports them with either hand, pressing against the back of each thigh a little ways below the knee until he's almost bent double. And all Blaine can do is watch, and _feel_ , as Kurt, looking perhaps the most traditionally masculine Blaine has ever seen him, leans into him, sucking in breath at the tightness and the heat as he pushes his wider, blunter cock into the space made by his fingers. And it's tight, so so tight neither one of them is really breathing at first. He thrusts shallowly, and slow, but it's slick for all it's tightness, and after an eternity it almost suddenly becomes the best thing in the world. Kurt is flush and desperate as he's finally moving smoothly, gauging Blaine's reactions as he thrusts deep and long, or harder and faster. His efforts are punctuated by little sounds, gasps and grunts that are all Blaine will allow himself, biting on his knuckle again.

He's brushing the right spot, he knows he is, when Blaine goes rigid and wild eyed when he thrusts, and he's not at all surprised when his muscles go taut and his face twists, choking on sounds he doesn't dare let out here and now as he comes in spurts, splattering between them. When Blaine finally goes limp, Kurt speeds up, pistoning with more urgency now that he's setting the pace for his own satisfaction. Blaine can only watch with a hazy fascination, riding out his afterglow, and he can't feel it, not exactly, but he _can_ feel when Kurt goes still, buried to the hilt, and watch his face as it contorts rapturously. Kurt's still careful, letting down Blaine's legs before giving in to bonelessness, collapsing on top of him with all the mess and everything, and the only sound is their ragged breathing, harsh and out of sync.

Everything is gradually coming back into focus when Kurt lets out a giddy giggle. "What...?" Blaine murmurs, dragging his fingers idly through his hair, cupping the back of his head.

"Touchdown!" Kurt exclaims in a whisper, thoroughly amused with himself, and Blaine squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain.

"Right.” He swallows. “Now I can never watch football with your father again."


End file.
